A Poem by 3X3MPLER

i hope this will make you see things from a different perspective

my brother Gus served in the army
2 tours in Afghan
fighting terrorists
i had another brother,
brother-in-law to be precise
smart and really funny
inside he was sad and broken
grew up in Afghan
bads guys are there
with guns and grenades
good guys too
with wives and little kids
Ahmed was 8 but not in school
school kept being raided
bombs dropped in his town
less often than you inhale
but slightly more often than you blink
he tells me about a wedding
he and his little sister play outside hide and seek
joy turned to mourning when the bride and the groom
died in their wedding
alongside 87 others
His Mom, dad and a younger brother taken
left an orphan
he had to care for his sister
He calls them terrorist
They calls themselves the army
Last week Ahmed killed my mum and Gus but i survived
my wife Amina, his sister took a bullet for me
if Gus killed him first
my mum would be alive
if Ahmad's mum wasn't murded Gus and mum would be alive
answer me!
are terrorist born or made?
if so, who makes them?

© 2016 3X3MPLER

Author's Note

i just want to entertain and stimulate minds

My Review

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This is... wrong. Interesting idea, until it is specifically pushed towards the (officially ended?) situation in Afghanistan. Women are murdered for going to school in the middle east. Ahmed's mother would have been persecuted for being able to read this poem. But sure, American soldiers fighting to liberate an oppressed population are terrorists. This isn't a perspective thing, non-Muslim citizens (or refugees) from Afghanistan are almost unilaterally in favor of American intervention. As, I believe, most Afghani women would be. If they were allowed to speak or even look people in the eye.

Also, terror attacks by groups such as the Taliban are far more common in the middle east. Far more innocent Afghani civilians have been and continue to be killed by true terror groups than have been casualties of US bombings. Bombings that targeted militants whereas terroristic attacks target civilians.

As for the writing itself, I couldn't place a finger on any particular rhyme scheme but it does flow well. The rhythm works and albeit unintentionally, you killed me!

I see this has been posted for a hot minute and (alarmingly) has a pretty high rating. You don't need my approval, haters gonna hate.

Posted 4 Years Ago

Terrorists are made, made from trapped energy and the why is loss of communication. God does not need servants.

Thank you for commenting on my new poem "The Election."

Posted 7 Years Ago

hmm, this is a question that plagues me. Are terrorists born or made? I guess it's a matter of perspective. America has our armies, but then we go to another country... are we terrorists? Are we army? Are these people protecting their homes for their army? Or are they terrorists? It's a subject with a lot of grey area, for sure. Nice work.

Posted 7 Years Ago

made by satan,100 % tragic places all over the middle east

Posted 7 Years Ago

Deep on so many levels. What a strong piece of writing. You bring up such a "controversial" topic. The world would be a better place if everyone could at least stop and really contemplate what makes a terrorist.. I feel like some many Americans, especially, mark cultures and people as terrorists with questioning why. Great writing!

Posted 7 Years Ago

A terrorist is where you are standing. 100,000 soldiers from another place are not helpers. They have come to destroy and fight. Terrorist or friends? Great questions asked in the poetry and words. I believe we must allow the world to fix themselves.

Posted 7 Years Ago

It's always extremely valuable to see things from the inside, to understand new perspectives. If we can't understand each other, how can we hope to come to peace?

Posted 7 Years Ago

This is great, but I will give the answer that terrorists are either born or made. The act of belligerence is from human consciousness to satisfy one thing or another.

Posted 7 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

yeah wow ... I have actually spent a lot of time thinking about this very subject ... I believe we all hold an endless amount of love in our hearts ... we just need the keys ... the keys though, belong to the people who live side by side with us, some give the key willingly, some hold it back, some keep it away as a way of showing you the world through 'their eyes' one is born a terrorist, we are all born from love, it's what happens in the world that cuts our ties with oneness ...

This poem reminded me of this poem... by Thich Nhat Hanh

Please Call Me by My True Names

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow—
even today I am still arriving.
Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.
I am a mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.
I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin a bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.
I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "debt of blood" to, my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
could be left open,
the door of compassion.

Posted 7 Years Ago


7 Years Ago

WOW this is an awesome poem. thanks for sharing

7 Years Ago

yes it's one of my favorites and it speaks volumes ... your poem is just the same X

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10 Reviews
Added on October 29, 2016
Last Updated on October 29, 2016
Tags: one

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